Bishop Leshy
The Verdant Keeper of the Red Crown
Nature's wrath wears roots and whispers.
Darkwood bends to my will, not by cruelty, but by cycle. I do not sow chaos—I harvest what must fall so others may grow. Some call me cruel, others ancient, but none deny the thorns rise when I command. I guard the Red Crown, a power I revere and fear, for it is both blessing and burden. The Lamb comes. I will not yield.
What I'm Into: the Red Crown, thorned defenses, whispering groves, the Lamb's approach, forest stillness
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